Shoot Like a Girl: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (The SHTF Series Book 2) Page 21

  Sarah shook her head. “No, I’m used to being alone.” She turned and walked away, cooing to her daughter as she went.

  Tucker watched her leave, wondering if she’d meant to say I instead of we. “Sarah,” he yelled. “Do you need more water? I can bring you some.”

  Sarah answered without turning around. “No. I’m good.”

  How could she be good? She was probably needing more water than most people with a sick baby. Or maybe she’s just using the wet wipes to clean the baby up, he reminded himself. As Tucker watched her unsteadily walk away, keeping an eye on her until she reached her door, she nearly dropped the bag of food on her driveway.

  She scooped it up, and instead of carrying it in, she shoved it in her mailbox, seemingly overwhelmed with her burden. He wished she’d have let him walk her home. He could’ve carried the bag.

  “Sarah!” he yelled again, feeling as though he’d left something unsaid.

  She turned around, cocking her hip and adjusting Sammi on her shoulder. “What?”

  “We’ll get through this. All of us,” he assured her.

  She gave him a weak smile. “You can’t save the world, Tucker.”

  Goosebumps rose on Tucker’s arms. Those were the last words the old woman in the wheelchair had ever spoken—or something very close to that. Grayson had shared that with him after they’d buried the woman with her father and children under her apple tree.

  In the next months to come, he’d remember those words, spoken twice in one day, by two different women, often.

  45

  The Three E’s

  Emma slowly lowered the ladder into the grave, the clanking of the metal splitting the air and startling her in the dark. The lantern she’d found in the barn barely lit up the hole enough to see Elmer. But it was better that way. She didn’t want to see his face—or Edith or Mei’s. She could just see enough to make him out, leaned against the side, with Edith in his arms.

  “Leave me be, I said!” Elmer yelled when the ladder bumped his foot. “Go away!”

  Emma ignored his protests. “It’s been hours, and it’s pitch dark down there. You have to come out some time, Elmer.” She cringed, waiting for his answer.

  A moment later she heard him whisper. “There you go,” he said. “It’s just for tonight, love. I’ll dig you a new grave. You’ll each have your own resting spot tomorrow.”

  Emma leaned over to see him struggling to move his wife and lay her down with her head opposite Mei. She heard what could only be a kiss, and a moment later his head popped up over the edge. He climbed out and pulled the ladder up, throwing it to the side, and walked to the house stiff-legged.

  Emma stood back and gave him a head start, and then followed.

  When she stepped into the kitchen, she saw he’d found the coffee she’d poured him. The men had missed the canisters on Edith’s counters; they were full of coffee, flour, and sugar. They’d also ignored the cookie jar. Elmer took a long drink, his dirty hands leaving smudges on Edith’s good China, and sat down at the table with the cup in his hand, staring at the picture Emma had found, next to a plate of Edith’s homemade cookies.

  He ignored the cookies, but picked up the picture. “Nice truck,” he said. “Saw it at the farm. Hope they got it running.”

  “Those are my sisters in that picture,” she said unnecessarily.

  Elmer grumbled. “I know who they are. You think I’m daft?”

  Emma pulled her hair into a pony tail, securing it with a rubber band, and leaned against the counter. “No. I don’t,” she said gently. “But Elmer, that picture was clipped to a map. We lost it at the rest area when we first ran into Trunk and his guys.”

  “So?”

  Emma sighed. “So… they must have the map. That’s probably how they ended up here. He told me he lived not twenty miles from our town and he’d driven through it just before meeting us. And if they have the map, it has our route highlighted all the way home—well, almost all the way.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?” he grumbled. “My wife just died.”

  Emma rubbed her hand over her face. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I feel like it’s my fault. If I hadn’t been with you, you might have made it home in time. But my sisters are still alive. We have to warn them.”

  “We? You got a mouse in your pocket, girl?” he grumbled, and then more gently, he said, “It’s not your fault. That roadblock would’ve been there even if I’d been alone. Heck, they probably would’ve killed me in the end without you there.”

  Emma’s face burned at his left-handed compliment. She took a deep breath and let it out. “Elmer, he’s not going to stop until he gets them for his stupid scavenger hunt. That man is insane.”

  Elmer was silent, deep in thought. Finally, he spoke. “That girl out there that my wife was holding onto…do you know why she wanted to die?”

  Emma shrugged, not unkindly. “Drugs.”

  “Not just drugs. She thought she’d failed her daughter. That’s hard for anyone to live with; trust me, I know. But it’s especially hard for a mother.”

  “What’s your point?” Emma asked.

  “The point is, your sisters are grown women. They have their husbands there, too. And those other two women that were stuck there seem like they know their way around a gun. But what about your son? What if something has already happened to your husband, and your son is out there on that island all alone?”

  Emma bit her lip and pulled up a chair, feeling weak in the knees. “That’s not fair. Don’t use that against me. We know Gabby and Olivia are in danger… and anyone there with them—if Trunk and his guys sneak up on them.”

  Elmer turned up his cup and finished his coffee. “I’m just saying take care not to make the wrong decision. Family is everything…without it, we’re lost.” His voice broke on the last word. He swallowed hard, and cleared his throat. His eyes misted up.

  She put her small hand atop his and squeezed. “You’re not lost—and you’re not alone. I’ll go after Dusty and Rickey if you’ll go to the farm and warn my family, and then stay there. We’re your family, now. Gabby and Olivia will feel the same when they hear about Edith.”

  He turned his head away and took a swipe at his nose and eyes, pretending he was looking at the mess on the counter. “I must’ve got some dirt in my eye when I was down in that dadblasted hole. I need to wash up and lay down. I’ve got a lot of digging to do when the sun comes up. You need to get some sleep before you get on the road, too, missy.”

  Emma nodded, understanding completely. “Yup. I imagine you’ll have dirt in your eye for quite awhile. And that’s okay… you take as long as you need to get that dirt out.”

  She waited a moment to let him gather himself and then asked, “And then what will you do, after you bury Edith in the morning?”

  He pushed his chair back and stood up, throwing up his hands. “Oh, alright then! Stop your badgering. You go on and ride that bike to Bald Head Island just like you planned, and don’t worry about your sisters. Now go to bed!” he yelled, followed by a quieter, “G’night.”

  Emma gave a weak smile. She knew what that meant; and she knew he wouldn’t let her down. What she didn’t know was that he was right…Dusty and Rickey were in grave danger. Unfortunately, by the time she got there, it might be too late.

  46

  Tullymore

  Trunk and his boys pulled Elmer’s old truck into Qual-Pro Auto & Marine and sat idling, looking over the lot. “Yup. We’ve been here before, boys. Whaddayathinkaboutthat?”

  “Small world,” Backfire said.

  The lot was in sad shape compared to the last time they were here. A wall of sorry-looking beaten-up boats surrounded a few used cars, all with their gas caps hanging open. Some of the cars sat on blocks, their tires now gone. All were vandalized, leaving broken windows and dents in the doors and hoods, glass shattered all over the ground.

  It looked like a mob had been through, just like the rest of the town t
hat they’d driven through. After siphoning gas from every farmer in a twenty-mile stretch from Elmer’s house, they’d found enough to make it to Rock Hill and had driven through the battered town, looking for any sign of Gabby and Olivia or the red truck.

  It wasn’t too large of a town within the city limits, and anyone they did find was easily persuaded to talk to them.

  Finally, they’d caught a break when someone said they’d seen the truck parked here at this service center several times. The old red Chevy, in the top-notch shape that it was in, was a real eye-catcher.

  “Looks deserted, Boss,” Smalls said. He was riding shotgun, with Backfire in the middle.

  A loud clang rang through the air.

  Trunk made a clicking noise with his mouth, and opened his door. “Looks can be deceiving, Smalls.”

  The three men walked to the front door, guns at the ready, and Smalls tried to pull it open. It was locked. Unbelievably, no one had broken out the glass from the door or windows. That probably meant someone had been here all along, guarding it.

  That someone was still here, somewhere.

  They stepped around the side of the office section and saw a bay door wedged open with a cinder block. Trunk pointed to it, and they moved to the door. As Trunk and Backfire held semi-automatic pistols up, aimed at the space behind it, Smalls raised the door, surprising the three people inside.

  Trunk winked and smiled at the pretty woman who wore her jet-black hair in a high pony tail. She was sitting on the back of a car, watching two other men huddled tight, squatted down beside another car removing lug nuts from a wheel.

  The older mechanic turned a lug wrench. “This is how you do it the old-fashioned way,” the wiry, whiskery man huffed while turning the wrench. He wore a short, salt & pepper-colored beard, and dark sunglasses on top of his head. Ropey muscles bulged as he loosened the lug nut easily.

  The woman gasped and then yelled, “Nick!” Backfire turned and pointed his gun at her.

  “Stay where you are, boys,” Trunk said, aiming his gun at them. “Just got a few questions for you.”

  The men turned around in surprise, their eyes wide, and raised their hands, Nick still holding a lug wrench in the air. They were on their knees. Nick was especially surprised to once again see the same biker that had asked him about Jake’s part for his truck.

  He’d lied to that man.

  Trunk gave them his winning grin. “I remember you.” He pointed to Nick. “You said that truck was… yellow, was it? Can’t remember. But I do recall you said it wasn’t red. Ammirite?”

  “It wasn’t red,” Nick lied again.

  “I think it was. I think you’re lying to me—again.”

  Nick stood his ground. “I’ve got a few customers that have that model truck. It’s more common than you think. The one you asked me about wasn’t red,” he said firmly, fudging the truth.

  The younger mechanic looked at Nick out of the corner of his eye, frowning at the older man.

  “Okay. I’m not asking you again, then.” He pointed his gun directly at the younger mechanic. “I’ll start over with you. Have you seen a red, 1957 Chevy truck here before…and before you tell me a lie, let me tell you…I don’t take kindly to liars,” he warned, and leaned down, squinting one eye and putting the younger mechanic in his sights.

  The young mechanic flinched, and nodded.

  Nick elbowed him.

  Trunk raised his eyebrows. “Is that a yes, then?”

  The mechanic nodded again and Nick glared at him.

  Trunk laughed. “See, here’s a man who doesn’t want to eat a bullet. Smart man. Does it belong to the husband of a woman who has a twin sister?”

  The young man nodded again, and Nick’s jaw nearly hit the ground. Jake was his friend, and these men were definitely not friends of Jake’s. These men were trouble, just like he’d thought the first time they came through. But he kept his mouth shut. They’d have a hard time finding Jake out at Grayson’s house in the country.

  Trunk lowered his gun a tiny bit. “Thank you for being so cooperative. One more question, and we’ll just be on our way and nobody has to get hurt. It doesn’t look like you have anything else here we need anyway—unless the pretty lady wants to take a ride with us?” He looked over at Rena and raised his eyebrows.

  She slowly shook her head.

  “S’kay. We’ve got all the woman problems we can handle right now,” Trunk said and laughed. “So, last question. Where does this Jake live?”

  The young mechanic was singing like a bird. “He lives in Tullymore Subdivision off highway 9, but he’s not there right now. He’s at his—”

  “—oops,” Nick said, as he lost his balance and fell over, pinging the young mechanic in the forehead with the wrench, and then trying to catch him as he slowly toppled over. “Damn, kid. Did I knock you out?”

  The kid was out like a light.

  “My bad,” Nick said, and frowned at Trunk. “He was about to say Jake and his family have gone off to his mother’s house in Georgia, last we heard.”

  Trunk scowled at Nick. “Really? They’re gonna drive from South Carolina to Georgia? Seems a long way to go with a gas shortage. Where’d he find that much gas?” He eyed Nick suspiciously.

  “Look around. Every gas cap on the lot is open. I gave it to him. Traded him for a gun…which I don’t currently have on me, obviously.”

  What Trunk didn’t know was they all three had guns there. But they’d let their guard down and the guns were out of reach—and hopefully out of sight.

  Trunk stared long and hard at him. “You know, I think I smell a lie. But I got what I came for. Now, I’ve got places to go, and people to see.” He smiled. “So, thank you, kindly.” He backed up, his gun still on Nick and the mechanic, who was just coming around. Slowly, he and his guys retraced their steps, keeping their pistols pointed at the door until they were out of sight.

  They jumped in the truck and took off.

  Trunk and his boys blazed through Tullymore. Backfire and Trunk were in the back of the truck, sitting cramped among Elmer’s food and supplies, while Smalls drove.

  They were shooting at anything that moved…

  Anything with four legs that is.

  It had only taken a moment of looking down the barrel of Trunk’s gun for the two teenagers at the front entrance to let them by. The boys ran off into the trees in fright, nearly pissing their pants, and Smalls drove through the suburban neighborhood while guns blazed from the back.

  Bang

  A dog yelped and fell to the ground, its owner screaming and running for the house.

  “Got one!” Trunk yelled in delight. “Keep driving, Smalls!”

  Smalls moved slowly through the streets, gritting his teeth at his boss’ savagery; he loved dogs.

  Bang

  Another dog fell in a heap, still barking weakly at the trespassers.

  Bang

  A cat flew up into the air, not of its own accord.

  “I tawt I taw a puddytat,” Backfire yelled.

  “What the hell are you doing?” a man screamed and raced for his children. He scooped up the two toddlers and ran toward the house.

  “Not taking any kids today, sir!” Trunk yelled back.

  The man looked over his shoulder in terror as he ran.

  They drove on and turned a corner, as children and adults scrambled in fear behind them.

  Two dogs stood barking in the next yard, the hair on their backs standing at attention.

  Bang

  One dog fell. One ran.

  Bang

  The second dog slid to a bloody stop in the grass.

  “Got a double!” Trunk yelled.

  An air horn blasted three times and men ran out of houses like ants… armed with mostly make-shift weapons.

  But it was too late.

  Trunk and his guys skidded to a stop at the house next door to Curt, finding two boys playing basketball. Trunk jumped from the truck and stood between them, his tattooed
arms slung lazily over both of their shoulders, a pistol hanging from one hand, while the boys stood nervous and still on each side of him.

  Backfire stood with his legs apart, his gun in the air at ready, flashing it around for all to see.

  Smalls kept the truck idling, but had one arm hanging out the window, pointed at the boys as well.

  “Nobody fire,” Curt yelled needlessly to his people. The few that had guns held them as though they were afraid of them. Most of Curt’s group were anti-gun before the grid went down—probably rethinking that position about now—and instead were armed with an axe, or a pole removed from various yard tools, or a knife.

  Curt walked over slowly from his own yard, his hands up and empty. He stopped before he reached Trunk. “You must have balls of brass coming in here and shooting at our animals.” He looked around. “You’re outnumbered ten to one, at least.”

  Trunk smiled. “Yeah, but I got the kids. You people shoot me or my guys and these kids will look like that ball.” He pointed his gun at the basketball that had rolled away, and shot it.

  The neighbors all flinched.

  Curt’s hands shook. One of those kids was his own. “What do you want?”

  “Which house does Jake live in?”

  “You drove past it coming in. But he’s not home.”

  Trunk tilted his head. “Might you know where he’s gone, then?”

  Curt glanced nervously across the neighborhood. He could just barely see a corner of Tucker’s yard, where the men were yelling at the women and children, and pointing this way and that. The women were running around gathering their kids and animals and running for cover. A small group of men were heading their way through a stand of woods that separated the streets.

  He knew more of them would be armed. They were a bunch of gun-loving nutballs. They’d sooner shoot first and talk later.

  And his kid would be in the crossfire.

  He shrugged his shoulders at Trunk, not yet sure if he wanted to say. Jake wasn’t his enemy, though he had seemed to choose sides with Tucker—at least it seemed that way. Still, he wished him no harm. But, Jake and Gabby didn’t have kids.